Bright Midnight

“She runs the food and her husband cooks,” I tell her, gesturing to the corner of the room where the jug of water, cups, and coffee are. “You need a drink, you get it yourself. It’s how it’s been run for decades.” I cut into the sausage. “Trust me, you haven’t had a restaurant meal like this before. It’s what you’d call ‘the real deal.’”

She looks more than unsure. Deliriously cute. But she braves the dumpling first.

“Oh,” she says, eyes lighting up as she chews. “It’s fucking good.”

“I told you,” I tell her, and my mind flashes with a reel of memories, all sliding past each other. When we used to date, when we were together, I would do everything in my power to get her to try new things, to push herself. Whether it was going out for sushi, or trying surfing in the middle of winter on Long Island, or breaking into the community pool in the middle of the night (I didn’t say all these things were legal), she’d always protest at first and it would always end with I told you so.

But I can’t bring that up because she wants to pretend like we don’t know each other at all.

I know why she’s doing it. I know I hurt her and, even though the time has passed, I know she’s still angry. I know this because I’m still angry with myself, so I can’t imagine how she feels. Eight years is a long time to carry around a coffin of feelings, the rusty pangs of guilt and regret.

So I’m going along with it. It’s just harder than I thought. What we are to each other right now can’t be based on anything on other than what we were to each other. Even though I’d been with her for less than a year, that year left its scar on me and she was part of that. She was both the wound and the balm.

Honestly, I can’t believe my luck. I’m not lying to her when I tell her that it’s fate that brought us together. Maybe fate doesn’t have an Instagram account, but I really didn’t expect to see her on the train station steps. I was watching her stories, I knew that she was arriving in Trondheim at three p.m., but we left the town late, so I really didn’t think I had a chance of finding her. I thought she’d be lost in the city somewhere, never to be found, and she wouldn’t be here, in Todalen of all places, with me, having dinner.

I dig my nails harder into my palm.

They barely hurt, but at least I know I’m not dreaming.

Shay eats ravenously, like I’m not even here, which I like. There’s something downright sexual about watching a woman devour her food, like she might just do the same with you. Food gives you pleasure, and pleasure shouldn’t be denied. Besides, I think it says she’s comfortable being with me.

Unfortunately, she looks up from her feast and catches me staring at her. I want to look away, to at least act ashamed, but I don’t.

“Sorry,” she says through a mouthful, reaching for her serviette.

“Don’t be,” I tell her. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Christ, she really is beautiful, even when she’s stuffing her face. Sure, she was stunning to look at on her Instagram photos, even though they were mainly selfies, which are usually less than genuine. All posed with false purpose. But in person, seeing her now, as a woman in the flesh, she’s indescribable.

No. Not indescribable. I can do better than that. If I had to choose a word, it would be silk. Everything about her is silken, from her brown smooth skin to her thick hair, to her velvety eyes and lush lips, to the way her curves all run into each other, like a dark river on a warm night. She beckons me, to take a swim, to drown in her. And she doesn’t even know it.

I swallow and attempt to eat the rest of my food. Moments ago it looked so appetizing, but now my body is hungry for something else. My chest lights up like a flare in the darkness. There’s no romantic way to describe my erection, which is pressing against my jeans and thankfully hidden by the table.

When we’re done with our meal and Shay is rubbing her stomach in an exaggerated way, I quickly settle up the bill with Hilde and we’re back on our way.

“Todalen is such a small town that most Norwegians don’t even know where it is,” I explain to Shay as she takes in the surroundings while seeming to slip into a food coma. “What it has going for it though is an unbelievable location, right at the end of the Vinjefjorden. Back in the old days you could take a steamship all the way up the fjord to Kristiansand and the sea, though now the town is pretty much a dead-end, save for hikers wanting to head into the surrounding mountain trails or the famous Trollheimen Park. We have a furniture factory that serves as the key employer, a primary school that keeps having the threat of being shut down, a church, the restaurant-slash-lodge that you were just in, and a general store. We don’t even have a bar, but that doesn’t matter much since everyone finds reasons to party. There are plenty of farms in this valley and not many neighbors to piss off with excessive noise. And believe me, we can get rowdy.”